(Nameless... again)

She stood at the edge of the cliff, looking down. Still, motionless. The waves moved forward and smashed themselves on the rocks so far below, with such force that she could taste the salt against her pale lips. Her eyes drifted to the calmer part of the ocean, the indescribably diverse shades of colour–green blending into blue, into grey. And all she saw was the ocean, the sky. All she heard was the sounds of the waves and the cawing of the birds around her.

She wondered idly why she saw nothing more, felt nothing more. Surely she ought to have some great, deep thoughts about the beauty, the loneliness and the sheer power of it all? Every human before her, every one of them who had stood where she now did, must have felt some sense of awe and wonder. After all, didn’t the poets find eternal inspiration from the sight of the sea? Didn’t they write endlessly on everything from despair to hope to hatred to time, inspired by this very sight? Who could count the number of artists over time who had tried, to their frustration, to capture the sheer vastness of the angry ocean on canvas, to freeze a moment of the grandeur for all eternity?

Why, then, she wondered. Why wasn’t she moved to any emotion but quietness… A sense of simply watching? Nothing in her stirred, nothing about the vista before her spoke to her soul. Just the thought seemed vaguely ridiculous to her.

She had noticed this about herself before. She was so often baffled when people spoke of grand passions, about being absolutely taken over by emotion. She had no idea what they meant. For her everything was even, smooth, like a well-pressed silk cloth without a single blemish. Her emotions, like her voice, were well modulated, without great variation in frequency.

She must be what they called “cold hearted”. Her mind shied away from the thought. Surely not! She did not like the sound of that. She had always heard such people being spoken of in the most horrified tones. To not have the heart filled with emotion, brimming with love–or hatred–seemed pathetic and unnatural. Surely she wasn’t either of that?

Now, she remembered as a child that there had been something different about her. A feeling inside that had made her–different, somehow, from what she now was. But she had grown up and lived her life. And a normal life it had been too. No great tragedies or agonies to kill that spark inside. And she realized now that it was dead. Strange that she had never noticed the loss. It has crept in on her slowly, silently, yet inexorably.

The fact that she was able to stand here and feel nothing–absolutely nothing–bothered her suddenly. Was she really dead inside? Something inside her whispered insidiously–yes!

She stood at the edge of the cliff, looking down. The waves moved, suddenly seeming hypnotic. She knew that a cold, emotionless life was surely not worth living. What was the use of being human, of being alive when the soul was dead? Wasn’t she just a shell, insignificant? A lifeless piece of driftwood swirled along by the whirlpool of life, caring neither about shores, nor jagged rocks? Surely it was better smashed against those rocks, far below?

Yet she stood still, motionless. A step would send her plummeting into the ocean, into oblivion. But she realized that such a thing was beyond her. She didn’t feel the despair… No traces of emotion strong enough for such a step existed in her. And even as she contemplated it, she didn’t feel fear at the thought. A strange, detached fascination with what would come after… but she did not need to discover that today.

Shrugging off what she considered temporary insanity, she stepped back… turned… and walked away.